Mockingjay and the Falcon
by Miranda C
Summary: When two hapless agents of the rebellion rescues one of the Captitol's most powerful figures from its most very clutches,all hell breaks loose in the highest levels of the rebels. When this very figure lends help...why?
1. Chapter 1

"Can you put an identity on her?" asked Haymitch calmly. His feet tapped persistently. He took a quick swig from his bottle recently opened. The white-robed doctor sighed, shaking his head.

"We found her I.D. on her, but it self destruct before we could show anyone."

"Of course, it did," muttered Haymitch. Without a word, the doctor handed him a bottle. It was one of those small transparent glass test tubes that was carefully sealed. Inside, near the bottom, were timy, blackened pieces of paper and grey ash, sitting desolate and gloomy. Glaring at the sad remnants of the I.D. card, Haymitch grunted

"I'm afraid that there is no need for any I.D., Haymitch."

Haymitch turned expectantly at the voice. It was Plutarch.

"You know who she is?" he growled. Plutarch nodded.

"I could tell you all about her without any need to consult any assistance."

"Fine."

"The woman we have unwittingly rescued is Cynthia Falconer, nicknamed 'the Falcon'. Captain in the Capitol's Secret Service. She was also the most favoured and most powerful advisor of President Snow. Most remarkably, all of these were achieved by the age of twenty-eight."

Haymitch cocked an eyebrow he turned back to the unmoving body of the woman lying unconscience in the bed before them. Her arm was smothered in a myriad of tubes which stuck out in various directions. The rising and falling of her chest was barely perceptible. But the perfect features of her face with its thin oval face and pointed chin, straight, sharp nose and deepset eyes, marred by a long scar over the cheek still fresh, lay unchanged. Her silver dyed hair spread around her face on the pillow. Haymitch was suddenly confronted by the image of a gleaming halo.

"So we have rescued one of the most powerful figures of the Capitol from its very clutches, how interesting."

"Wonder what she did to arouse such anger," murmured Plutarch.

"I'm sure we'll find out before long."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1 **

_A quite whistle as it was drawn. She could feel the vibration of the air as the sword was unsheathed. She could feel it just behind her. How he approached so quickly, she knew not. But he was there. And he was preparing for the kill. She knew it. The cause will not die with her. It will not. But it could have been hopeless. She spun around, one hand drawing her sword to meet the deathly blow. The other grabbed her pistol. _

_It was too late. _

_Her sword turned to meet at the sword at the wrong angle. With a hiss of derision the two swords brushed past each other, blades colliding. The blow no longer deadly. _

_Quickly, the man withdrew his sword. As quick as a snake striking its prey, he delivered another slash. This time it made its mark. _

_There was a searing pain in her side. She could almost feel the gush of blood from her veins. The pain was blinding. Unwittingly, she lost her balance, crashing to the ground. _

"_So the 'Falcon' has finally fallen," came the contemptuous reply. _

Cynthia sat straight up in her bed. This very action sent another wave of pain in her side, accompanied by a wave of nausea. Put together, these two terrifying sensations were enough to send anyone back under. But Cynthia Falconer was stronger than most people. However, she was still obliged to lie down. She looked around, or she tried to as best as she could from her position lying down.

The whitewashed walls gleamed sterile and bright under a blinding, simple white light. The smell of disinfectant stung her nose. Gently, she attentively touched her side. It was covered in a neat bandage, smooth under her touch. She cocked her head to her right side. Tubes stuck out at a myriad of angles from her arm. Vibrant red liquid rushed into her arm from a tube. With a start, Cynthia realized it was possibly blood. No, most likely, surely blood.

Where was she? Surely not the Capitol. Her eyes widened momentarily. Her eyes frantically searched around the room. But in her years of training, her panic was buried away. Still, her heart rate quickened.

"Ah, you are awake."

Her ears perked. The voice sounded strange. The accent foreign.

Slowly, a woman materialized beside her bed. A nurse. The uniform was strange. Cynthia caught sight of a badge pinned on the nurse's uniform. The letters glistened bright from its electric screen. It read:

_D13 Medical Department_

_Nurse Agella Carver _

Carver pressed several buttons on a machine sitting beside the bed. _D13_. District thirteen. She allowed a small nod before an excess of opiate sent her back to dreamland.


End file.
